


Legend of the Statue

by ItsKira



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 2 is here!!!!, Curse AU, Flashbacks, Jehan is immortal and great, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Mentions of Blood, POV Third Person, Soulmate AU, grantaire is a statue, no beta we die like men, revolution flashbacks, tagged teen bc there's three swears, this was written like nearly two years ago, true love's handhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsKira/pseuds/ItsKira
Summary: Courfeyrac insists Enjolras take a photo with the local cursed statue, what's the worst that could happen?(Inspired by the writingprompts prompt)Edit: Chapter 2 is here!
Relationships: Enjolras/ Grantaire, combeferre/courfeyrac (background)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 220





	1. Rewaken

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this so long ago, I rediscovered it while clearing out my old folders so might as well post it up here! Enjoy xo 
> 
> (again this wasn't beta'd so sorry for any mistakes)

The warm sun was sitting high up in the bright blue sky. Enjolras looked right into it and shut his blinds in retaliation, focused back on the plan for this week’s Les Amis de l’ABC meeting. There was still a few days before the group met up but he still wanted to make sure nothing was forgotten or brushed over. He needed to focus. 

“Hey, Enjolras!”

Or not.

His decidedly closed bedroom door was flung open by his dear best friend and personal headache, Courfeyrac. 

“‘Ferre and I are planning on going down to visit that one statue, wanna come with?” He swung slightly on the doorframe, awaiting Enjolras’ answer.

Enjolras sighed, “And be the third wheel of your ‘not’ date? I’ll pass.” Red flooded Courfeyrac’s cheeks. 

“It’s—shut up! He’s in the living room!” He hissed, leaning into the room. He took a breath. 

“Please, just come with us. I need the moral support and you need to go outside, get some sunlight.” Courfeyrac continued as he began walking back down the hall, “Gods know you need it.”

Enjolras frowned at the empty space. He glanced back to his open laptop, planning documents still on screen, blinking patiently. It can wait, Courfeyrac’s sing-song voice echoed in his mind. It probably could. Could it?

“Enj! Hurry up!” Courfeyrac’s voice came from the living room. Enjolras sagged back into his desk chair before getting up and grabbing his jacket and keys. He supposed it could wait.

“Oh, good! You’ve decided to join us!” Courfeyrac’s freckled face scrunched up in to a pleased smile. He went over to open the door, walking out onto the street. Leaving Enjolras with Combeferre. 

Combeferre nodded at Enjolras to go first but stopped briefly in the doorway, out of Courfeyrac’s earshot. 

“Hey, Enj, I know you didn’t really want to come with us today. I get it, but I just wanted to say thanks. In uh- in advance.” The be-speckled man shifted slightly and stepped out on to the pavement. Enjolras give him a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t worry about it. I could use the sunlight.”

——

When they reached the city park, Courfeyrac made a bee-line for the infamous statue, the other two men trailing behind him. Enjolras didn’t understand the fascination with the statue after all, it was just a statue. It had been in the city’s park since the 19th century — he only knew that because its taught in lycée — and people liked to take photos holding its hand — he only knew that because he has eyes and Courfeyrac won’t shut up about It. Speaking of the devil, that’s what he was doing at the moment. So was Combeferre. Oh gods. 

Courfeyrac caught his attention. “Hey Enj, can you take a photo of us please?” He was waving his phone in the air. Enjolras took it before he could drop it. 

“Ah, now I see why you wanted me here,” He laughed a little as Courfeyrac shooed him away. He stood in front of the statue and watched as his friends posed on the statue, trying to hold its hand at the same time while awkwardly attempting to avoid each other’s hands. It looked very goofy. Enjolras took a few photos just to make sure there was at least one nice one. 

Courfeyrac ran up to take his phone back with a quick “Thanks”, Combeferre walking up behind him, both of their faces slightly darker than before. Such idiots, Enjolras shook his head as he gave the phone back, stepping away to head back. He noticed his friends not doing the same. 

With increasing concern, he watched as Courfeyrac turned the phone back on and re-open the camera app. Oh no…

“Your turn Enj!”

Damn it.

“Courf, no, I think we should head back home…” He looked back at the sky, sun still shining bright despite the chilly autumn air. The weather wasn’t on his side today. He looked around no one else was near the statue, either. No excuses. 

Courfeyrac pouted slightly, “Enj, I know you’re a little camera shy, but pretty please? Just one, and then we can leave.” Did he just try puppy eyes? Wow. 

Enjolras gave a resigned sigh and made his way back up to the statue while Courf gave a self-satisfied “Yes!” behind him and unnecessarily hi-fived Combeferre. Enjolras ignored them as he could now actually see the statue without people climbing all over it. It was old white marble, cracking slightly around the edges; at the hands. He noticed how worn they were compared to the rest of the body. 

Enjolras called out, “Hey, Courf?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What’s the story behind his hands?”

“What?”

“Why do people try to hold his hands in photos?”

“Oh! It’s the old legend behind the entire statue.” 

Enjolras looked back up to the statue’s face, the model its base from was clearly handsome. 

“It goes something like, a man was cursed by someone or something—” He had a mass of curls, encircling his neck and ears, his head tilted ever so slightly downwards. Were those tear tracks? Enjolras reach out to touch marble cheeks, “—It’s unclear why, although it’s rumoured that he lost the person he was in love with.” He pulled his hand back, barely brushing the man. Enjolras noticed how his right hand appeared to be grasping the cloth over his heart. He felt almost sad for this person. It’s a statue.

Courfeyrac continued, not noticing his friend’s sudden interest in the statue’s features, “It’s said that he was so upset and felt so alone that he became a recluse. Apparently, his sadness was so profound that even the people physically near him felt it. The whole story is so interesting…” 

Enjolras noticed his left hand, how it was extended outward by his side, as if reaching for someone. He looked up, “So what’s the deal with the hands?”

Courfeyrac stopped mid-sentence, eyes sparkling, “According to the legend, he will return to his true human form when he is able to hold his lover’s hand again.” He paused, thinking, “Which, is kind of impossible considering the whole ‘dead’ thing…” He looked up to Combeferre, who nodded.

“You have to remember the ‘legend’ part though, Courf,” He reminded the shorter man. “Anyway, Enj, you still have your photo to be taken!”

Ah. Enjolras had hoped they had forgotten about that. Dang.

“Make sure to hold its hand!”

With Courfeyrac cheering him on, Enjolras moved over to the statue’s left side, reaching down to grasp his marble hand with a smile. Courfeyrac’s eyes widened as he pressed the capture button. Enjolras felt the marble hand move. He felt a warmth where cold should have been. Confused he turned his head. Brown curls caught his eye, a green vest, soft skin instead of stone. Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” 

——

Darkness. There had been darkness for so, so long. It’s all Grantaire could remember. He missed his friends, his Apollo. He could barely remember his beloved’s name, only the nickname he had used long before he even spoke to the man. It had been too long, too long like this. 

He felt something brush his face. Gentle. Tender. It made him ache. It’s been so long since he’s felt that kind of touch. It made him think of his ange. Another soft touch, this time more firm, real. A light spilled into the darkness. He felt warm. He could feel the hand in his, so familiar yet so strange. He blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings. Orange, green, blue. A breeze kissed his cheeks. He was alive. He saw two figures in front of him, both wide-eyed. He turned his head. The most beautiful person he’s ever seen was staring just as wide-eyed as his companions.

“Holy shit.” The very same person spoke and it was the most beautiful sound Grantaire had ever heard in his life. He continued to stare at the person, noting how their hands still grasped his. 

This person seemed to be carved by the Gods themselves. Their features were sharp and elegant, bright blue eyes standing out dark lashes. The sunshine bounced off golden curls. The person he was looking at was his Apollo.

Apollo spoke once more, directly to Grantaire this time, “…Uh hello? Are you ok?” They squinted and leaned in slightly. 

Grantaire blinked again, his cloud of thoughts dissipating. He nodded and spoke, “Yes, thank-you. I am quite fine.” Then he noticed their clothes. “Could you, perhaps, tell me the year?”


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Co take a newly conscious Grantaire back to the apartment. What's the worse that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long, thank you for all the support, your comments really mean a lot to me and it was nice to see how many people are interested in this fic
> 
> I don't have any plans to continue this story so I hope this last chapter is a satisfying conclusion, I did leave it a little open-ended (in a good way!!)
> 
> Quick warning: There is mention of blood/ violence in the flashbacks of the revolution and Grantaire experiences essentially a panic attack as he remembers the revolution. I've also updated the tags to accompany this

“Could you, perhaps, tell me the year?” 

Enjolras blinked. _The year?_ “I-uh- it’s two-thousand-and-twenty.” He glanced at Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who each had matching expressions of bewilderment. 

“Oh my…” 

Enjolras turned his focus back to the statue, or man, he supposed. He was looking around the park, taking note of the surrounding tall buildings and busy streets, eyes wide. He breathed in deeply as he dragged a hand down his face.

“Two-thousand-and-twenty you say? _Christ,”_ the words were slightly muffled by his hand but his sheer disbelief rang clear. 

After a moment, the statue-turned-man dropped his hand and looked back to Enjolras.

“Thank you, uh…Oh! Apologies, I haven’t introduced myself - I’m Grantaire,” he held out his right hand, clearly for a handshake. Enjolras looked down to his right hand, which was still grasped in Grantaire’s left. 

“Uh-” Enjolras felt his face heat up slightly. Not sure what to do, he quickly wrapped his free hand around their already joined hands and shook gently. “My name is Enjolras. It’s nice to meet you, Grantaire.”

Enjolras quickly let go of Grantaire, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets. He turned to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, “We should go back to the apartment.”

—

Grantaire could not _believe_ how much time had passed since he’d seen the sun, or the moon, or _anything_ , for that matter. He walked next to Enjolras as he and his friends lead him back to their apartment, navigating through the distantly familiar streets of Paris. He followed as they walked through backstreets and alleyways. 

As they walked, Grantaire snuck glances at Enjolras. Grantaire had truly thought his Apollo, his _Ange,_ had returned to him once again; thought that somehow, by some defiance of fate, they had finally - _finally-_ been reunited. However, after speaking to Enjolras for that short time in the park, it was clear this was not the same man. It was clear Enjolras, despite the resemblance to his _Ange_ , didn’t share the same memories nor feelings Grantaire held of him. The past is the past and fate was laughing at him, probably.

Grantaire had never been on fate’s good side, or destiny’s or whatever people liked to call it. It didn’t even let him _remember_ his Apollo’s true name, only the nicknames he teased him with. Grantaire glanced back to Enjolras, did they even share the same eye colour? Perhaps Grantaire had simply projected his _Ange’s_ image into that of his saviour in the moment of his reawakening. Perhaps he was simply longing for the past to return. For his Apollo. 

—

It wasn’t long before they reached a small apartment building squished between similar buildings. They walked in and lead Grantaire up a cramped flight of stairs and to the flat. Once inside, Grantaire was struck with a wave of familiarity - this apartment shared so many features to his own is was a bit overwhelming. He could see three windows that lead out to the street below, the small kitchenette, a ladder leading to the loft, and two doors which he assumed lead to a bathroom and a bedroom. His heart ached. 

Of course, there were slight differences - there was a strange rectangular object set on the wall and an odd-looking closet in the kitchenette. Times certainly had changed, he supposed.

“Grantaire?” The voice of Enjolras jolted him out of his slight stupor, “Are you alright?”

Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck, “Yes, sorry. I’m just… uh…”

Enjolras smiled gently, “Getting adjusted?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire peered over at Enjolras who was hovering near the kitchenette, they made eye contact and Grantaire felt something stir within him. He looked away. 

A loud bang and muffled yell drew the pair's attention to the small hallway behind the kitchenette.

“ _Hang on!”_

_“Wait, I’ve almost got it-!_ There we go!”

Grantaire heard the sound of something soft falling and hitting the ground before hearing something being dragged towards the entrance. One of Enjolras’ friends emerged pulling a thin mattress into the living space, the other emerging behind, keeping it steady. Once fully in the living space, Courfeyrac pushes the mattress down with a soft thud. 

“There we go,” He said, dusting his hands off. He looked around to were Grantaire was standing, “You can sleep here for now.”

“Oh, uh. Thank you, Courfeyrac.”

—

By the time everything had settled, it was nearly six-thirty and time for dinner.

They sat around the dinner table with bowls of pasta Combeferre and Enjolras had prepared whilst Courfeyrac gave Grantaire a crash course on modern life. 

“So,” Courfeyrac started, pointing his fork at Grantaire, “do you actually remember _why_ you were a statue? Was it a Pygmalion and Galatea situation and this is the first time you’ve lived? Did you have a life before? Was it a coincidence that you woke up when Enjolras…”

Courfeyrac’s words faded as a loud rushing filled Grantaire’s ears. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, his breath becoming shallow and uneven. He felt cold. What was happening? The memories flashes throughout his mind. He had lived previously, he wanted to say to Courfeyrac, he had friends, too. His tongue was sandpaper in his mouth, his throat was tight. He had a life! Why couldn’t he say that? What is this? His bowl of food blurred, the table began to spin. He closed his eyes. 

—

_He opened his eyes and was blinded with red. Red pooling in the gutters, red sewing its way through dead men's clothing, the red flag that was ripped through by bullets, causing it to flutter limply where it stood on the pile of destroyed, wooden furniture. He could hear the shouts of the commander calling for cannons._

_Someone- red vest,_ him _\- ran past him, heading straight for the barricade. Grantaire grabbed his arm quickly, desperate, “The soldiers will storm us soon.”_

_He gently pulled his arm away from Grantaire, resting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, “I know,” he said._

_“Apollo, we need to go.”_

_“I know.” He moved away from Grantaire and toward the barricade, reaching up and tugging the red flag down. He tied it around his waist and returned to Grantaire, grasping his hand. Together, they made their way into the Corinthe as cannons exploded behind them._

_Quickly, Grantaire and his Apollo climbed up the stairs of the Corinthe, the sounds of gunfire growing closer._

_“In here!” Grantaire pulled him through a door on their left. It was empty, all its furniture in pieces on the street. The window had been shattered in the chaos, the sunlight catching on the sharp edges of glass. Grantaire locked the door once they entered._

_“That should hold any intruders for now.”_

_Grantaire looked at the leader in red. The sounds of revolution and death were now muffled and distant through the walls of the room. They were alone for the last time. He laughed._

_“Is something funny?”_

_Grantaire shook his head gently, looking out to the window, “Not funny. I am merely regretting the circumstances of… of everything.” Grantaire glanced back to him, eyes shining. “I have to laugh at it. If I don’t…”_

_Grantaire felt Apollo grasp his hand once more, pressing a kiss to the back of his palm. He looked directly into Grantaire’s eyes. “We will meet again, Grantaire” he whispered._

_Voices sounded through the walls._

_—_

_“…ok?_ Hey, dude! Deep breaths!”

Grantaire opened his eyes again. He was sitting at the table, Enjolras grasping his shoulders, eyes wide with worry. It took a moment for Grantaire to fully reorient himself. He looked around to see the concerned faces of Courfeyrac and Combeferre. 

Grantaire looked back to Enjolras, “I apologise, I don’t know what - ah!” He doubled over, causing Enjolras to release his shoulders. The world went dark.

—

Jehan was happily preoccupied with watering their orchid plant when a loud buzzing sounded from the coffee table. They put down the watering can and ambled over to where their phone lay. Courfeyrac’s picture was flashing across the screen. 

“ _Jehan!”_ Courfeyrac’s loud voice came through as soon as Jehan answered, “We need you to come over, like, right now - ”

“Okay Courf, I’m on my way. Can you tell me what’s happening?” Jehan quickly picked up their keys and bag before running out the door. 

Courfeyrac took a deep breath, “So, ok this is gonna sound _really_ weird but just listen, ok…”

Jehan listened carefully to Courfeyrac’s panicked rambling as they walked quickly down the streets. Statue, Enjolras, Grantaire, statue, headache, _unconscious_? The walk wasn’t long on a regular day, but the scattered way Courfeyrac was talking made Jehan walk faster and faster until they were ringing the buzzer in less than five minutes. 

Once up the stairs, they were met with the worried faces of Courfeyrac and Combeferre who were standing around a mattress. On the floor, Enjolras sat, pressing a wet towel to the forehead of an unconscious man. _That must be Grantaire…_

Jehan looked back to Courfeyrac, frowning slightly. “I’m going to make tea.”

Courfeyrac nodded, Jehan could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes. 

“It’ll help,” the said with a small smile as they made their way into the kitchenette. 

_Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire._ It was a strange name. Jehan rolled it around in their mind as they waited for the kettle to boil. _Grantaire_ … It sounds so familiar though, but why? Where had they heard that name?

They continued to ponder the name as they poured water into a cup. Loose tea leaves floated to the surface and swirled around. Jehan’s eyes followed as the patterns morphed throughout the dark liquid. 

They quickly drank the tea until there were more leaves than liquid before picking up a saucer, placing it atop the cup, and flipping them over so the cup rested upside-down. Jehan picked up the cup, leaving a small puddle on the saucer and peered into the cup, studying the tea leaves, murmuring to themselves. After a minute, they came to a resolution.

“…Alright then.” 

Jehan reached into their bag that was still slung over their shoulder and pulled out a vile of herbs. They walked back into the living space and knelt next to Enjolras. 

“Sorry, Enj,” Jehan pushed past Enjolras slightly, arm outstretched as they held the vile under Grantaire’s nose. 

Grantaire stirred, brows creasing as he breathed in the scent of the herbs. The others watched with bated breath as Grantaire groaned and opened his eyes. He looked around the room before meeting Jehan’s steady gaze. His eyes widened as he opened his mouth to speak. Jehan beat him to it.

“Have a nice rest, R?”

Grantaire’s expressive was now one of complete surprise. “Jehan?”

Jehan grinned and placed the vile back in their bag, “Nice to see you again, _old friend._ ”

—

 _The barricade was about to fall - that much Jehan was sure of. They looked around the chaos, looked for their friends- their dear, dear friends. Through the haze of gunpowder and dust, they could make out the shapes of fellow students running, shooting, screaming._ We will die here, _the thought echoed absently through their mind,_ we will all die. 

_“Jehan! They’re yelling for cannons! We need to find cover!” A voice- Courfeyrac, always so confident, now so scared. Scared for his friends, for himself -cried out from behind Jehan. They felt something pull him back, back into the Corinthe. They turned to see their friend, hand on their arm, the other holding tightly onto Combeferre’s hand. The three students ran up, up through the building._

_Combeferre stopped at a door, yanking on the handle. Locked. Jehan pushed forward, murmuring something at the brass lock. A faint click sounded. They pulled open the door. “Through here! Quickly!” They yelled, pushing the other two into the room._

_“Jehan!”_

_“Courfeyrac! Combeferre!”_

_The three students were met with the shocked faces of the red leader and the capital R._

_“Enjolras? Grantaire?”_

_Enjolras moved quickly to his two friends, embracing them fiercely, Combeferre and Courfeyrac returned the hug._

_“You’ve served our cause well, my friends,” he said, voice wavering ever so slightly, “I’m sorry it ends like-“_

_“Do not apologise, Enjolras.” Combeferre cut in, stepping back to look his friend in the eyes, “This was our choice to make, too.”_

_Courfeyrac shook his head in agreement._

_“Jehan,” The red leader turned abruptly to the poet._

_“Enjolras.”_

_“Remember our previous discussion?”_

_Jehan nodded simply._

_“Good.” He walked to the poet, hand out. Jehan pulled two small, silver rings from their breast pocket, placing them gently in the leader’s hand. “Thank-you, Jehan. Truly.”_

_Enjolras walked back to Grantaire, who had observed the exchange from the window. He watched as his Apollo gently took his left hand, placing the ring around his finger. Enjolras looked up._

_“This is my promise, R. We will meet again.” He placed the second ring in Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire obliged, smiling gently._

_“And this is mine, Apollo.” He placed the ring onto Enjolras’ awaiting finger. “May we meet again in a better world.”_

_Loud footsteps quickly made their way up the staircase. This was it. Together, the five friends stood facing the doorway._

_Grantaire mumbled something into Enjolras’ ear. Enjolras took his hand with a smile._

_They all watched as the last of their protection fell away, as soldiers marched briskly into the room with bayonets raised, as metal strayed towards them._

_—_

_Jehan’s eyes blinked open. In the distance, they heard the cries of the women mourning their spouses, their children, the innocent lives lost overnight. They could feel the dried blood on their clothes, in their hair, on their skin. They refused to look, eyes staring holes through the wooden eaves of the ceiling. Their friends’ bodies rested in the corners of their eyes, haunting their vision._

_Slowly, Jehan trod towards the limp bodies of Grantaire and Enjolras, fingers still intertwined. Jehan reached down and gingerly pulled their hands apart, pulling the ring off Enjolras’s left hand before doing the same to Grantaire. They placed the rings back into their breast pocket and stood. They had something to do._

_—_

_A year later, a beautiful statue appeared in the park close to the building once known as the Corinthe, hand outstretched as if to hold onto another. Some say the statue is cursed. Others say it’s just a statue. All Jehan knows is that they have two silver rings and a group of friends they need to find once again._

_—_

They all sit back and stared at Jehan, who rubs the back of their neck almost sheepishly. 

Courfeyrac, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the silence. 

“We _died?_ ” 

Jehan looks over to their friend, who baulks at them from across the mattress. 

“…Yes?” 

More silence. 

“And you were there?” Combeferre has his hand resting over his mouth, brow furrowed. Jehan thinks he’s going to have a difficult time processing this. 

“Also yes.” Jehan probably could say more to help their friends out but he lets them ruminate for the time being. 

They look over to Enjolras who’s clutching the drying towel to his chest, knuckles white. 

It’s quiet for a little longer until Grantaire shifts, catching everyone's attention.

“Do you still have them?” He asks, voice quiet and strained. He doesn’t look at Jehan as they reach into their bag. 

Jehan remembers sewing in a small zip pocket some years ago to store the silver, although by then they had forgotten their purpose, they just knew they were important. It wasn’t until they arrived at the flat and consulted their tea leaves that the memories came rushing back, although that also probably had something to do with actually seeing Grantaire and Enjolras in the same room. Nevertheless, they pulled the rings out of their concealment and presented them to Grantaire, who delicately picked the one he had worn from their palm and examined it quietly. 

Jehan looked back to Enjolras who still clutched the towel. Jehan could see their friend’s throat bobbing slightly.

“Hey… Enj?” Jehan gently placed their hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, “Hey, what are you thinking?”

Enjolras lifted his head to look at Jehan. His eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He didn’t say anything, but Jehan could feel a shift in their friend. Grantaire, who had given the ring back to Jehan, also stared at Enjolras, worry etched into his forehead. 

“Enjolras…?” Jehan spoke tentatively, not wanting to upset their friend. “Are you ok?”

Enjolras sniffed, refusing to let those tears fall. He levelled his gaze at Jehan, who raised their eyebrows, awaiting his response. 

“I remember.” He said to the room. “I-I remember the barricade, the people- I remember,” He looked down to Grantaire, who met his gaze with wide eyes, “I remember Grantaire.”

“Enjolras?” Grantaire whispered, worry turned to hope, “you remember me?”

Enjolras grasped Grantaire’s hand with a smile. 

“I do.”

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Yes, Jehan is an immortal being, no i will not elaborate (jk i totally will i love this idea for them)  
> \- I like to think Jehan was born during medieval times and became involved in witchcraft/ sorcery and that's how they became immortal/ageless and so by the time the 1830's rolls around, Jehan is already at the point with magick that they could pull off the curse/ spell with R and E. Also Jehan did make the statue from stone, they didn't steal R's body from the corinthe (although that image is both tragic and hilarious).  
> \- Im not gonna get into the details of the spell but essentially the statue was a placeholder for R's soul/spirit to return to once enjolras/ his true love made contact with him. (also all the amis except R were reincarnated at some point, idk something something symbolism) hence why enj, courf, and ferre are themselves but R is a statue 
> 
> I really wanted to include the other amis but i felt that it would require more chapters and i kind of wanted to write something short and sweet :( sorry babes i still love u all 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated, thanks for reading xo


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